Chapter 106 A Laughable Dream
A single note from a piano rang out, and the overwhelming, suffocating darkness that had gripped him abruptly receded. Ya Feiyu felt a release in his throat, his breathing finally becoming somewhat easier, but the stench of blood in the wind still made him nauseous; his stomach churned, and he felt intensely uncomfortable. He stumbled, his vision blurring as darkness engulfed his world. Before he could recover, Ya Feiyu collapsed, but fortunately, his reflexes were quick enough to prevent him from landing face-first. Only when the dizziness subsided did Ya Feiyu open his eyes. A bead of cold sweat had formed on his forehead, rolling down his cheek and staining the dry earth with a small, dark stain. Ya Feiyu blinked, barely managing to regain his senses from the dizziness. He stood up, only then noticing that the soil beneath his feet was a deep red, as if something ominous had flowed there.
He stiffly raised his eyes, looking in the direction of the wind. In the distance, a raging fire burned red against the sky, and a mountain of corpses blocked one side of the road. People's clothes were soaked in blood, and every figure seemed so familiar yet so strange. Ya Feiyu was stunned. He had lived for so long and had seen his share of grotesque and cruel scenes, but because everyone before him who had stopped breathing was a familiar figure, the shock in his heart was more intense than ever before. His mind was almost out of control. He took steps forward, his gaze sweeping over each face and figure that had once been vibrant, now a bloody mess, buried in the sea of people.
It was unfamiliar, it was terrifying. Ya Feiyu thought, but for some reason, he didn't feel sad about it.
Having lived for so many years, he was neither a practitioner of the ruthless path nor someone born indifferent to emotions. On the contrary, although he was taciturn, he valued those he cared about above all else. If anything happened to them, he would definitely seek justice for them. It was this very nature that made Ya Feiyu quite popular among his disciples. He was fair and just, and never stingy with praise when necessary. However, very few people could become his close friends, but that didn't mean Ya Feiyu was particularly distant from others.
But, strangely enough, Ya Feiyu's fingertips trembled slightly. This feeling of inner peace was completely unfamiliar to him. Clearly, his soul was in pain and shock at the scene before him, but his heart was not responding. It was beating at a steady pace, as if what he was seeing was not a scene of carnage, but just an ordinary and normal environment.
Was he really that cold-blooded? Ya Feiyu was completely stunned. Just then, a crow flew over his head, and Ya Feiyu subconsciously followed its shadow. The bird seemed to notice him as well, letting out two hoarse cries before gracefully landing on his shoulder. Ya Feiyu looked over and realized that he was covered in blood.
Since regaining his senses, he felt nothing but exhaustion and soreness, so the blood clearly didn't belong to him. Ya Feiyu lowered his eyes; there was a long trail of bloody footprints on the ground, following the path he had come from. At the end of the footprints was a figure lying in a pool of blood, barely alive. Ya Feiyu squinted and saw that familiar figure… it was Sect Master Ji Pengde.
The silver blade embedded in Ji Pengde's chest was none other than his own spirit sword, Danqing.
The spirit sword, nourished by spiritual energy, possesses its own consciousness and naturally radiates a faint luster. Danqing and Yafeiyu have a deep connection. Danqing is a fine sword that Yafeiyu has carried with him since his youth, accompanying him for hundreds of years. Yafeiyu has long recognized the sword as a close friend. Who wouldn't recognize their long-time partner at first glance?
However, the Danqing Sword was not shining at this moment. A perfectly good sword was dull and lifeless, like an ordinary iron sword forged by mortals. Ya Feiyu's dazed steps stopped, as if he had finally found his true target hidden behind the mist. His heart suddenly started pounding. He ran without regard for his appearance, tripping over his clothes several times. He staggered to regain his balance and ran over again, just to see what had happened.
Ji Pengde had just breathed his last, and his body still retained some warmth, but being exposed to the cold night like this, his warmth would probably be taken away very soon.
Ya Feiyu trembled almost uncontrollably. Ji Pengde was an inseparable friend to him. It was this kind sect leader who gave him a place to belong, and it was he who had tolerated his willfulness and arrogance time and time again, which made him who he was today. He had long regarded Ji Pengde as his family. But the body in his arms that was gradually getting cold and stiff and the peaceful expression on that person’s face told him one fact clearly—Ji Pengde was dead.
His eyes welled up with tears, but he still forced himself to stay upright. He examined Ji Pengde's wounds one by one, trying to find the true cause of his death.
The spirit sword can only be controlled by its bound master, so Danqing must have stabbed Ji Pengde in the chest of his own volition. But Ya Feiyu couldn't understand it. He had always respected Ji Pengde more than anything. Even when he was in a state of mental confusion, he would not have hurt him for no reason. In Ya Feiyu's heart, this person was almost in the top three.
So he thought, perhaps someone else killed Ji Pengde, and his sword strike was just a misunderstanding, just a misunderstanding...
"Impossible, impossible..." He investigated one by one, but the results greatly disappointed him and were hard for him to accept. Ya Feiyu's hand, which was tightly gripping Ji Pengde's collar, was trembling uncontrollably. Tears that had been welling up in his eyes were swirling and about to fall. His trembling hand gripped the cold hilt of the sword. A sword is supposed to be an inanimate object, but this was the first time Ya Feiyu felt that this weapon, which he used so well, was so cold and cruel.
Unable to muster any strength, he struggled several times before finally managing to pull the sword from Ji Pengde's chest. This was the only visible wound on Ji Pengde's body, and the only fatal one that could kill him. Ya Feiyu watched the spurting blood, which splashed onto his clothes like ink spilled on white paper, making them dirty and messy. The blood slowly trickled down the cold blade, clearly reflected in Ya Feiyu's eyes. The mask of composure on the face of that immortal who remained calm even in the face of a collapsing mountain seemed to finally shatter, turning into fragments.
"...Waaah..." Even when someone is heartbroken to the extreme, their tears will still be suppressed. "Did I...kill them...? I killed them all...?"
The laughter and joy that once filled the sect, the admiring and envious gazes of the disciples looking at him, were gradually being replaced by fear and unease. In his chaotic mind, a memory that seemed to have been intentionally forgotten was gradually becoming vivid and clear. But this memory was too clear. Even every chilling detail in it was remembered by Ya Feiyu, as if it were reappearing before his eyes.
Because of the demonic energy entering his body, he was unable to suppress the inner demons in his heart and completely went astray, falling into the demonic path. He slaughtered everyone in the Qinglian Immortal Sect, leaving only a few dozen survivors. Even the livestock and pets in the mountains and forests could not escape his cruel hands. The raging fire, the blood in the wind, and the mountains of corpses by the roadside were all created by Ya Feiyu.
"No, no..." He clutched his head in anguish. The memory was so vivid and terrifying that it made him want to back down. Ignoring the blood on his hands, his voice was weak and trembling, like a child who knew he had done wrong but stubbornly cried out for justice, "I didn't want to kill people, I didn't want to kill them, it wasn't me, it wasn't me, I didn't kill anyone, I didn't—"
A chilling voice interrupted his mutterings: "You killed someone."
Ya Feiyu looked up in surprise, her eyes still glistening with tears.
The voice sounded very similar to his—no, almost identical, but more composed, more indifferent, like a ruthless god standing high above him, a height he could no longer reach. Ya Feiyu couldn't see the owner of the voice, but could only hear the whispers, like a demon echoing in his ears.
But the voice didn't quite feel like a demon; it felt more like a voice from another dimension speaking to himself. Miraculously, Ya Feiyu's near-collapse was pulled back slightly, as if he'd been abruptly pulled from a falling sky to solid ground. Before he could even recover, his heartbeat gradually calmed. He realized he looked rather pathetic, so he turned away, wiping his tears with his clean sleeve. His voice, though forced calm, still betrayed a sob, "But this wasn't my choice. I don't even know what happened. I didn't want to kill anyone..."
“I used to think the same way you did,” the voice replied coldly, “but killing someone is killing someone. You can’t escape your guilt, even if you did it unconsciously. You’ve already hurt them, and there’s no going back, Ya Feiyu.”
The voice was calm, almost cold. Ya Feiyu pursed her lips and asked, "Who are you?"
"Who am I?" The voice paused, then answered him, "Is that question important? Do I need to answer you?"
“It’s absolutely necessary.” Ya Feiyu nodded firmly, then voiced her guess: “You are me, aren’t you?”
There was no answer, and a profound silence fell over the surroundings; even the sound of the wind seemed slightly harsh. Ya Feiyu did not urge him, patiently waiting for a reply.
Yes, I am you.
He finally got the answer he wanted.
It's strange. Ya Feiyu thought to himself, he actually felt like laughing at this moment, even though he had been very sad just a second ago. He slowly curled his lips into a smile, unaware that the scene around him was slowly fading away.
"So, it was all just a dream, right?"
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